


Fell for You

by autumnlouise



Series: Baby, It's Cold Outside [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby It's Cold Outside, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sick Sherlock, Sickfic, sherlolly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 20:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12896025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnlouise/pseuds/autumnlouise
Summary: When an icy day in London brings down our favorite consulting detective, Doctor Molly Hooper springs into action.





	Fell for You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! Happy December 2nd. I'm back with another one shot, this time some Established Sherlolly fluff. This was so much fun to write and I love this duo so much. <3  
> Thank you guys for your amazing response on yesterday's drabble, "The Secret of the Swiss Slopes", especially to all those who commented, favorited, or left kudos. I wasn't expecting to get that many hits on my first work!  
> I'll stop rambling and let you read. Anyways, here's wonderwall.

Sitting in the café, gazing out the window at the snowy city beyond, Molly Hooper couldn’t help but sigh happily. The beginning of December had brought with it not only the start of the Christmas season, one of her favorite times of the year, but also the first snow of winter. At least an inch had come to lay thickly over London’s busy streets the previous night, making a mess of traffic but looking beautiful all the same. Most of the city, it seemed, had not been prepared for snow- but Molly had grown up in the countryside, so she had simply pulled on her snow boots, added an extra layer to her outfit, and decided to walk to work instead of taking the jam-packed Tube. 

Along with the snow, her day had also begun with a phone call from her boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. He had been investigating a series of bank robberies, but had promised he’d be finished around lunchtime. The two promised to meet at one of Molly’s favorite coffee shops during her lunch break, and that was how Molly had ended up in the window booth at the Misty Flower café. She’d purposely come a few minutes early to have time to people-watch, and had ordered a hot chocolate for herself and a coffee- black, with two sugars- for Sherlock. 

Today was shaping up to be absolutely wonderful, she thought as she took a sip of her cocoa. She couldn’t wait to see Sherlock. Just visiting with him for a few minutes always made her long, twelve-hour shifts at Barts more bearable. 

But 1:00- their allotted meeting time- came and went without any sign of the detective. Molly frowned. It wasn’t like Sherlock to be late; he usually operated on his own time, yes, but he knew Molly always liked to be early and tried to do so for her. Plus, her lunch break was only half an hour, and her supervisor tended to get annoyed when she returned to Barts late. She hoped he was alright as she pulled out her phone and sent a quick text.

_ Where r u? Waiting with coffee. Xx -M _

His response came through not a moment later.

_ I shall be there momentarily. I apologize for running late- no thanks to the press. Please forgive me. -SH _

Molly smiled to herself as she read his text and then turned back to the window. If he said momentarily, he meant  _ momentarily _ ; more than likely, he would be beside her in the booth before she could even reply to his text, so she decided to watch for him instead. It was easy to spot him amidst the crowd- he was taller than most of the ladies milling about doing Christmas shopping, and he was the only one wearing a long, black Belstaff and a dark blue scarf. With satisfaction, Molly noted, it was the one she had given him for his last birthday.

A grin broke across her face as he neared the coffee shop. She rapped on the window, hoping to catch his attention, and waved. The detective turned to look at her, and his lips twitched ever-so-slightly upwards as he caught sight of the bubbly pathologist waiting for him.

But then Sherlock vanished from her sight. Outside, she heard a large  _ crack  _ against the pavement. A second later, she could see arms and legs splaying as he slipped on the icy sidewalk and fell to the ground. One moment, he was in view of the window, the next he wasn’t. She gasped.

“Sherlock!” she cried, leaping from her seat and flying out the door. The cold air hit her like a slap to the face- she had forgotten her coat- but she ran to him without hesitation. A group of shoppers had gathered around him, all looking around anxiously and asking if he was all right. 

Molly was not usually one to shove, but there was no other way to get through the small crowd that was forming. “Let me through!” she shouted, pushing several people aside. “Let me through, please, I’m a doctor.”

And there was Sherlock, sitting up straight but clutching his right ankle. He was grinding his teeth, as if trying not to cry out in pain. Molly rushed to him and knelt down by his side. “Sherlock! Are you alright? Where does it hurt?”

Irritation was written all over his face. “I’m  _ fine _ .” he snapped, shooting withering looks at all of the passersby who were watching him like a goldfish in a bowl. “Molly, really, I’m fine. No need to panic.”

She tore her gloves off of her hands and tried to reach for his ankle. He batted her hand away. “Don’t lie to me,” she accused, looking from his ankle to his strained expression. There was definitely something wrong, but he wasn’t going to want to admit it. “Mary’s not the only one who can tell when you’re fibbing.”

Seeing the anxiety in her eyes seemed to make him give a little. “Right ankle,” he gritted out, “But it’s probably just bruised, Molly, there’s no need to make a fuss.”

Slowly, she reached towards the injury again. “Just let me look at it, darling,” she begged, and this time Sherlock did not stop her. Gently, she pulled back his pant leg and sock. The area looked quite swollen already, and there was a nasty purple bruise on the side of his foot, but there was no blood. She gently probed the skin above his ligaments with two fingers- Sherlock hissed in pain. The area of the swelling and the bruise indicated a probable sprain, not a fracture, but she wouldn’t be able to tell without an x-ray.

She also couldn’t be sure exactly how bad his pain was with all of these people around. The detective wasn’t going to speak up and make himself seem vulnerable in front of this large a crowd, and the sheer amount of people watching them was starting to make her claustrophobic. Turning to them, she snapped, “Don’t just stand there! Somebody call a cab.” Then she realized what she had said- who took a taxi to the hospital? “Call a  _ cab? _ What?” 

Behind her, Sherlock protested loudly. “A cab is  _ fine. _ Just take me back to 221, Molly– I’m fine, a cab is perfectly fine _. _ ”

She shook her head and crossed her arms. “Uh-uh. You’re coming back with me to Barts. You did something nasty to your ankle with that fall.”

Sherlock groaned. 

“Really, Sherlock, it’s fine. I just have to take an x-ray and I can patch you up in my office. No one will see.”

He opened his mouth to complain. “But I’m not–”

She pointed to his red-and-purple ankle. “Don’t even try to deny it.”

A few moments later, a black cab rolled up to the curb, courtesy of one of their audience members. Sherlock managed to pull himself off of the ground and, while leaning slightly on Molly, limp to the street and climb into the taxi. Molly shut the door behind them and directed the driver to St. Bartholomews. 

She checked her phone- 1:35. She groaned. Not only was she going to be late back to work, but she and Sherlock hadn’t gotten to have lunch and she was going to have to start an autopsy late because of his ankle. Her supervisor was going to be upset with her. She thought about calling John or sending Sherlock to A&E, but he would probably be too embarrassed to let anyone other than Molly see him in this state.

Yes, it would be better for her to do this. If she let him out of her sight, she knew he would head straight back to 221B and resume normal work the first chance he got. 

Sherlock was stubbornly silent for the entire ride to Barts. Inside the hospital, he managed to walk gingerly all the way to the morgue, the whole time trying his best not to be noticed. Molly pulled one of the portable x-rays and after several minutes, concluded that his ankle was indeed sprained. 

“Oh, Sherlock.” she sighed, pulling a roll of elastic bandages from a drawer. “Please, be more careful.” Going to the metal table that Sherlock was sitting on, she crouched down and began to wrap his ankle. The pressure of the bandage would hopefully lessen some of the swelling.

“What are you doing? Stop that.” Sherlock snapped, moving his foot around in protest. Molly flicked his toe. 

“It’s just a wrap. You’re lucky I’m not making you use a boot.” she threatened, and he fell silent after that. Upon pulling the last bit of tape tightly around his ankle, she pinned it in place. “Now, you need to get home and elevate this. Lots of ice, too.”

Sherlock eyed her warily. “What if I’ve got a case?”

“John can do the running.” she told him. firmly “I want you completely off of it for at least five days. I’ll check you again after that and we’ll see about walking then.”

The detective snorted. After putting his shoe back on, he slid off of the table and came to wrap his arms around her. “What am I supposed to  _ do _ for that long?”

She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of him- cold and crisp, like a winter wind, with a hint of tobacco. If he’d been smoking again, she’d be giving him a talking-to later. But the sprained ankle was enough for him to deal with now. She didn’t want to bring the full wrath of a frustrated and bored Sherlock down upon herself. 

She supposed… she supposed she could keep him company for at least the day. If she just let him leave now, he was certainly going to keep walking on his ankle like normal. Someone had to keep him under control and make sure he was icing it regularly. “I can come over,” she offered, leaning her head against his chest and smiling. She never wanted to leave his arms, even when he was being an insufferable know-it-all. She loved him too much.

Sherlock pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “I suppose that if I  _ have _ to stay at home,” he mused, talking into Molly’s hair, “It would be all right if you were there.”

Before the thought of  _ actually _ staying there forever became too irresistible, Molly slipped out of Sherlock’s arms. “I just need to tell Mike I’m taking sick leave.” she told him. “You can walk to the cab and into the house, but after that,  _ no more. _ ” 

Molly knew that Sherlock was privately thinking of ways to get around her rules, but to her face, he merely nodded and went to go and put his coat on. Molly left the morgue and headed upstairs to Mike’s office, knowing that Sherlock would follow and then they could be on their way. She rapped three times on his door and then entered.

Mike was sitting at his desk, per usual, but Molly was surprised to find Greg Lestrade from Scotland Yard conversing idly with him. Both men turned to see who had interrupted. 

“Hello, Greg, Mike.” Molly greeted them. “Sorry to have barged in. But, erm, I just wanted to let you know that I’m calling in sick for the rest of the day.”

Mike, a doctor as well, looked her over and frowned. “Are you alright? You don’t look ill, Molly.”

Sighing a little and shaking her head, Molly said, “It’s not me, it’s Sherlock.”

Greg laughed at the sound of that. “Oh, what? Has he come down with the flu?” he chuckled, imagining something presumably very amusing. “Are you going to be his nursemaid?”

Molly felt herself blush a little. “No.” she snapped. “He’s just–”

Sherlock chose that moment to open the door and enter the room behind Molly. The small office was now  _ very _ crowded. Greg turned, and upon seeing the newest addition to the room, couldn’t hold back a grin. 

“Wanting to spend some time at home.” Sherlock said calmly, speaking over Molly just as she said “Slipped on ice and hurt his ankle.”

Mike looked a bit concerned, but Greg burst out laughing, leaning over and holding his chest. “Ha! Sherlock Holmes can survive a fall from the top of Barts Hospital, but one slip on the ice takes him out! Who would have thought?”

Sherlock shot a glare at both Molly and Lestrade. Oh, she was going to have to deal with quite a grumpy detective later. She should have just kept her mouth shut.

“Ha-bloody-ha. I think  it’s time for you to take your leave, George.”

“It’s Greg.” Molly, Greg, and Mike all said at the same time.

Sherlock reached down and took Molly’s hand. “Whatever. Molly, I do think we should be going.”

“Don’t hurt yourself on the stairs!” Greg called as they left. “They’re quite menacing, I’ve heard!” and with that, Sherlock yanked Molly out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him. 

Sherlock kept a few paces ahead of Molly as they walked down to the cab. He was clearly in a bad mood, probably from the pain of his ankle and irritation at not being able to work and Greg’s remarks. Molly ran to catch up with him. “Don’t be upset,” she tried, reaching down and taking his hand again. “At least John wasn’t there.”

Sherlock sighed as they came to a stop in front of the curb, waiting for a taxi. “As always, you are right.” he murmured, squeezing her hand. “If John had been there as well, I would never hear the end of it. From him and Mary both.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “They’re just surprised to see that you’re actually human.”

He brightened a little at that. “I suppose I do present quite the brilliant visage, don’t I?”

The ride to Baker Street was shorter than the one they’d taken to Barts; as the day had gone on, the snow in the streets slowly began to melt, allowing traffic to flow more freely. The blanket of white coating London would probably be gone by tomorrow, Molly realized sadly. But it had certainly given them a lot of memories to look back on later. 

Inside 221B, Molly settled Sherlock on the couch, propped up his foot with several pillows, and fetched a bag of ice from the fridge. For a few minutes, Molly watched some evening telly while Sherlock sat with his eyes closed, deeply immersed in his mind palace. She was happy to watch him think and occasionally run her fingers through his curls. After a few minutes, though, he began to fidget a bit, moving his foot and nearly knocking the ice off in the process.

“Hey, stop that.” Molly said, leaning over to re-adjust the bag. Sherlock grinned like a misbehaving child, flexed his foot again, and let the bag fall straight into Molly’s waiting hands.

Turning back towards him, Molly frowned. “You have to stay still,” she said, crossing her arms. 

Sherlock stuck his foot in the air. “Make me.”

So she did. Turning over on the couch, she settled herself on top of him, nestling into his chest. She wrapped her arms around him, enjoying his warmth and the simple closeness of him.  Sherlock smiled triumphantly, having gotten what he wanted. 

“You could have asked.”

“Yes,” he told her, putting his arms around her and pulling her closer to him still. “But you wouldn’t have let me do  _ this,  _ Doctor Hooper.” and he rolled them so that they were both on their sides, spooning, with Sherlock’s back against the couch. Molly was pressed against him as the little spoon, her knees bent and her body fitting perfectly against his. 

Molly sighed happily. “No,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t have. But it seems you have left me no choice now but to stay like this.” 

They stayed like that for what seemed like forever, until Molly’s eyes grew heavy and she was dozing off. Between bursts of dreams, she thought to herself that someday, she would wake up every morning in this man’s arms. 

As usual, it felt like a miracle that all of this was real.

Between head-bobs, Sherlock leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. “I was right, Molly Hooper.” he breathed into her ear. “Staying at home to recover is  _ much _ better with you here beside me.”

And they fell asleep in each other’s arms, not knowing that a second layer of snow was coming to settle upon the London streets outside… 


End file.
